


Friday Night at the Movies

by Scribe



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 20:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe/pseuds/Scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was originally written in seven parts on my journal. Now it is compiled and edited properly. For Mandy, with love and much gratitude. Thanks to Shawn for betaing!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Friday Night at the Movies

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written in seven parts on my journal. Now it is compiled and edited properly. For Mandy, with love and much gratitude. Thanks to Shawn for betaing!

Orlando has his head in Billy's lap and is making obscene noises, and it's not what it looks like. This is what Dom thinks when he enters the room, clutching the can of Dr. Pepper in his hand so hard that it dents. It cannot be what it looks like. Not with Astin sitting there calmly flipping through sports channels. Not with Elijah looking so damn uninterested. From where he's standing Billy's back blocks the view of what's actually going on, but as he watches he notices that Billy's right arm is moving a little. Slowly. Rhythmically.

Dom thinks that it might just be possible that somebody out there with a hell of a lot of power over the way things work has taken a really, horribly, incredibly intense disliking to him. Like God. Or maybe the casting director.

Orlando lets out a low, involuntary groan and writhes around a little.

Dom lets out a high, involuntary squeak.

Billy looks up at the noise and catches a distinct _what the fuck?_ expression from Dom. His fingers still where they've been absently combing through Orlando's mohawk.

"Kept moaning about how his head was itchy from the wig," he explains. "It was the best way to shut him up." Except that isn't really the reason. It has more to do with the weight on his crossed legs, keeping him grounded, keeping him in reality. Keeping him from curling up around a pillow in a futile attempt to ease the lonely ache in the pit of his stomach. It has more to do with human contact.

Well, if he's being totally honest, it may have a teensy-weensy bit to do with the way Dom's cut-off tank top exposes his tanned shoulders, or the way the very base of his neck glittered with sweat after he'd wrestled Elijah into submission earlier, or the way his eyes had danced when he'd tried to insist on Life of Brian as the movie choice for the evening (again). He'd won that one, because it had been Billy's turn to choose and Dom never really has to work hard to convince Billy of anything.

Billy decides that the reason's rather too complicated to analyze. Especially when Dom is utilizing his best pleading expression.

"All right, enough," he grumbles, shoving at Orlando's shoulders. Orlando swings his feet to the ground at the same time as Elijah sits up to get his soda from Dom (Sean's instituted an Only One Alcoholic Drink For Elijah On Work Nights rule that the others have great fun either upholding or breaking, depending on which of the duo they want to annoy) and a noisy, if minor, collision results.

When the chaos clears everyone settles into their seats- Billy, Orlando, and Sean on the sofa, Elijah sprawled on the floor, and Dom sitting in front of Billy, leaning back against his legs. Elijah keeps up a steady stream of complaint about the soda rule and how Orli's caused him permanent brain damage by way of his foot. Everyone ignores him. Sean, who'd arrived first and stolen the remote while Billy was politely hanging up his coat (the crafty little fucker) starts the movie.

All is blessedly silent. After a moment, Billy's attention is pulled away from Terry Jones scuttling about in a dress by Dom bumping his head back against Billy's ankles. He smiles and obediently scritches his fingers through Dom's close-shaven hair.

Billy's good at this. He's confident with it, although he's pretty sure anyone could do as well if they bothered to try. People tell him it's incredibly relaxing. He's certainly put quite a few to sleep before. If only Dom's hair were longer and he could really get his fingers into it, he thinks, rubbing in slow circles around one temple and then the other. The crew cut bristles interestingly under his hand.

It's a good thing Dom can recite the movie already, because he doesn't remember watching a minute of it in the morning.

~*~

Three weeks pass. At Elijah's the everything is encompassed by the presence of sleep. The room is blanketed with it- dark, quiet. Sean is stretched out on the couch, one arm hanging off the edge for easy access to Orlando's head. The point at which Orlando's odd snuffling sounds bothered him has long since passed, though, leaving him fast asleep in a position he's bound to regret in the morning. Dom is also on the floor, head near Orlando's shins. Billy curls up in a reclining armchair. Elijah is absent, removed to his own bed.

The room is littered with the debris of a good night- bottles, wrappers, a bowl of popcorn kernels, remotes, and pillows, in addition to several bodies. Faint light from the window falls on Sean, stretching strange shadows over his face. He looks carefree in his sleep, and it suits him.

"Dom?" The query is soft enough to blend into dreams. There is a pause.

"Yeah?" The voices are disembodied in the darkness, and no one stirs. It seems like a conversation from some other time, misplaced and dropped inexplicably into the wrong setting.

"You awake?"

"Yeah." Another pause.

"Will you come up here? I need to tell you something."

One of the forms on the floor gathers itself, stands, and pads over to squeeze into the easy chair.

"What is it?"

There is quiet for a moment, words unspoken and understood through expressions unreadable to anyone else. Billy leans forward. Six heartbeats pass as they kiss. Quiet again.

"Billy?" Barely a whisper. "I need to tell you something, too." This time the heartbeats blend into a steady, uninterrupted cadence. Their movements would not even register to eyes unaccustumed to the motionless room, but the contrast makes the slight brush of a hand, the tilt of a head strangely conspicuous. Similarly the whisper of skin and a soft sigh that might have been lost in the daytime world are sillhouetted against the silence.

"Billy?" comes the voice, now rough-edged but with a laugh audible behind it. "I think it's about time we had a long conversation."

They leave hand in hand, as quietly as they'd slept.

~*~

Feet on Saturday morning is filled with (mostly) good-natured grumbling. They're shooting extra scenes today because it rained on Wednesday, which is a bit of a daunting prospect before five in the morning. It takes Elijah nearly a quarter of an hour to reach the point where his eyes will actually stay open even when he's not focusing the whole of his concentration on them. He yawns. The first thing his newly cooperative vision encounters is Dom, wearing only makeup and sweatpants, approaching with two styrofoam cups of Tea. A half-remembered mystery floats toward the surface of Elijah's mind and he grabs onto it before the light scares it away. Aha!

"Where'd you two go last night?" He asks. Hesitates. Amends, "this morning." (It comes out like "wheredjuhtuhgolasni....smorning", but at this point they all understand the slurry accent of the sleep deprived as if it was their own native tongue. Which it sort of is.)

"Bill here woke me up complaining that your chair was playing hell on his back. Insisted that I drive him home at that hour. Pushy little bugger. You can carpool with him next time; cost me nearly half an hour of sleep."

Elijah tries a laugh, but it doesn't have enough energy to evolve past a quiet puff of air.

"Poor old man," he says. "Next time just wake me up and you can share the bed."

Sean glances at Billy, who has gratefully taken one of the cups of Tea and bent his head over it to inhale its steam. After a moment he looks up and catches Dom's eye. A quiet but intimate glance passes between them, one of those that an outsider can see but not interpret. Billy smiles his gratitude.

Sean thinks that Elijah has it wrong. Billy looks younger than any of them this morning.

~*~

It's Billy's turn to play host again the following week. Dom arrives earliest and claims a seat in the middle of the sofa, choosing dominion over the bowl of crisps rather than the remote (one of the Twenty-Four Commandments of Hobbitry establishes that you can't have both at once unless under really extenuating circumstances, such as stealing them from someone else. The Twenty-Four Commandments are followed more often than the Ten Commandments, but only slightly).

The others settle in around him; Sean and Orlando on the floor, Elijah on his left, and Billy huddled up with a blanket to his right, complaining at intervals that he won't fucking defrost. They start the movie. A few minutes into it, Billy nudges him and waves a corner of the blanket. Dom obligingly straightens it out enough to share. It's an old wool thing, scratchy but warm, and it makes a tent between their raised knees and their shoulders. In the dark space beneath Billy reaches for his hand. On the outside nothing changes, but now they watch with their fingers laced together. Every so often Billy brushes his thumb over the backs of Dom's knuckles.

In half an hour Dom is pleasantly lulled into what turns out to be a false sense of security, and he jumps several inches off the couch when Billy's toe ever-so-lightly traces his instep. Elijah calls him a few choice names. He glances over at Billy, who appears to be absorbed in the movie, and barely manages to stay still when the toe starts rubbing little circles on the skin just above his heel.

Five minutes later, Dom thinks he may scream. Billy knows all the most sensitive areas of his feet, and is putting this (considerable) knowledge to what he apparently thinks is very good use. His toes wander all over, drawing strange abstract lines over the arch of Dom's foot, curling around his ankle, tickling and then pressing and then almost scratching. All of a sudden, something occurs to Dom- neither Billy's hands nor his feet are at all cold. He almost laughs out loud.

About then Elijah pauses the movie to send Orlando into the kitchen for another round of drinks (even though his soda's probably counted for the volume of three so far, what with all the alcohol that the others keep slipping into it when Sean isn't looking). While they wait he takes the opportunity to elbow Dom in the ribs.

"What the fuck's with you tonight?" he demands. "You're like, ten times more fidgety than normal!"

Billy leans across with a positively wicked gleam in his eye foreshadowing whatever cruel remark he's about to make in regards to Dom's inability to sit still. Dom interrupts before he's even opened his mouth.

"Don't even think about it, Boyd. I've got enough blackmail on you to make you do anything I want." He doesn't even notice Elijah clambering to know what it is, because Billy takes the opportunity to whisper right into Dom's ear,

"That wouldn't take any blackmail at all, love."

And well, that just wipes all his thought processes clean out of his mind.

They start the movie up again once everyone's alcohol supply has been refilled (except for Billy, the contents of whose drink Orlando swapped with Elijah's in the kitchen. He claims that it was quite surreal to get up the next morning and find a beer bottle full of flat soda sitting next to his sofa for no apparent reason.) Billy is just about to take a sip of his drink and inadvertently discover Orlando's cunning when he is distracted by Dom's hand, bypassing his own this time, and settling instead on his thigh.

Oh.

Dom's fingers smooth repetitively over Billy's jeans. He appears to be drawing something, or perhaps spelling something. His touch is light and soothing- or it would be, if it wasn't an inch and a half away from something that is rapidly becoming a problem. He pets along the inside seam of the jeans and-

And the boy just doesn't have any shame, does he? Because he's just put his hand right in Billy's crotch, and it certainly doesn't seem to be by accident.

Billy decides that it's time to put his drink down for a little.

Twenty minutes later and he's forgotten its existence entirely. His whole attention is focused on staying still, staying quiet, appearing normal. It wouldn't be so bad if Dom would just get on with it. But no, he just teases, scrapes his nails across Billy's denim-clad erection again and again until Billy is rapidly losing ground in the fight against the urge to just grab Dom's hand and shove, force him to do it, subtlety be damned. The worst part is that they're at Billy's house, so he and Dom can't come up with some flimsy excuse and bugger off (and bugger each other) in a few minutes.

The movie culminates in a spectacular car chase that involves lots of screeching, swearing, and explosions. This is probably a good thing because Billy's completely given up on keeping his breathing anything like even. At this point, he's just trying to keep breathing, period. And then his hips are rocking involuntarily and the credits are rolling and he's about six seconds away from coming and Dom's hand is squeezing-

And Dom leaps off the sofa and sprints out of the room, crying "Dibs on sharing the bed!" as he goes.

Later, Billy will be grateful to Dom because he is so far beyond thinking of strategy that his brain might as well be a gerbil, for all the good it's doing him. But right now- as he stands, wrapping the blanket around him for concealment, more thankful than ever for his cold alibi, as he fetches everyone spare blankets and pillows even though it hurts like hell to walk, as he collects the movie and all the empty bottles he can grab with the hand not holding the blanket and dumps them in the kitchen, as he hobbles down the hallway to his bedroom- all he wants (and he wants it Right Fucking Now, thank you very much) is a sodding orgasm.

~*~

Dom is stretched out on his back on Billy's bed, eyes closed, wearing only a pair of boxers that are tented out slightly in the middle. The sight stops Billy in his tracks. Without opening his eyes, Dom bites out,

"Lose the jeans, Boyd, and get the fuck over here."

Billy wastes no time in complying.

Dom tastes of toothpaste and Billy is suddenly very much aware that he probably tastes like pizza and beer and unpleasant things. Maybe Dom hates it because he appears to be trying to lick it all out of Billy's mouth and, that failing, simply inhale it.

Well. In retrospect, he probably doesn't hate it.

Dom's fully on top of him now, propped up by his elbows on either side of Billy's head, rocking their hips together slowly as they kiss in a way that's likely to make Billy loose it in about point two seconds. He makes an odd breathy sort of noise, hands flying up to tangle in Dom's hair.

Dom goes still suddenly, pulling away. Billy opens his eyes and then has to close them again for a second lest he be overwhelmed by the sight of Dom staring down at him, eyes strangely bright in the darkened room, still panting lightly.

"Billy," Dom whispers, holding his gaze from barely an inch away. "Did you mean what you said earlier? About doing whatever I wanted?"

There is a long silence. The world has narrowed down to the tiny sliver of space they occupy, pressed together from chest to groin to knee to foot.

"Yes," breathes Billy. Dom shifts and grinds his hips down in response, perhaps without even realizing he's doing it. Billy arches into him, gasping. Dom slowly kisses his way up Billy's neck, pausing to whisper directly into his ear,

"There's only one thing you have to do right now." Billy shivers, waiting, but Dom doesn't say anything else, just hovers above him.

"What?" he asks finally. They're so close that he can feel Dom smile.

"Stay absolutely silent."

And Dom vanishes under the covers to finish what he's started.


End file.
